


scraps

by justdoityoufucker



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen, No character hate, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdoityoufucker/pseuds/justdoityoufucker
Summary: Snippets of the journey to crown Dalmasca's queen.Chapter 2: The Nam Yensa is quite unlike anything Balthier has encountered before, and that is of note for him.





	1. westersand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ridorana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridorana/gifts).



The sand is everywhere. Balthier curses his penchant for fashion, because no layer of his clothing is spared from the fine granules. Penelo and Vaan, on the other hand. Well, they are at home in the sand, being from the Royal City, but he would not expect Fran to be as unaffected as they. Yet she continues behind him with not a care for the wind, nor the swirling grit if his dulled senses aren’t tricking him.

Part of him admires her. Part of him can’t imagine how she is withstanding the weather in as little  _ vêtements  _ as she sees fit to wear; ah, well, ‘tis something of her last remaining connection to the culture of her people. He won’t begrudge her that.

He does begrudge her the extraordinary inability to be fazed by the weather, however. To be frank, it seems that instead of getting out of the sandstorm they had found themselves in, they are travelling deeper within. As little as he pretends to trust their younger compatriots, he does find himself wondering if they truly know the path. The Zertinan Caverns should not be so difficult to find, he would think.

Fran’s ears twitch, a slight movement that he notices nonetheless. As if she can sense the petulant thoughts running through his mind; they turn back nosily, then flick back forward. A chastening sort of gesture, which Balthier would not admit works.

He puts his mind off it, focuses instead on keeping the grit out of his eyes and airways. In decent places where one could see the sun, he supposes it would be heading down. As it is, the air is too thick to tell other than a reddish sort of tint to everything that makes distances seem vast.

The Westersand seemed akin to a massive cathedral like that; ethereal. Vast. One could get lost in it. He reins his thoughts in. It would not do to fall so deep into his thoughts as to do something as base as trip over the sand and rocks littering the path. Balthier squares his shoulders, and continues following in the footsteps of his partner.

♦

The fire crackles, spitting sparks into the cool air of the cave. There is a lingering chill that cannot be chased away by the growing blaze. It might be too much to hope that whatever Vaan is concocting with Penelo’s meagre help will help warm all of them, but Balthier has decided to play the fool and hope.

Whatever it is, it at least  _ smells _ good, and that has to count for something.

Balthier checks his guns. Blasted sand did a fine job of working its way into all of his possessions, though it gratifies him to see Penelo and Vaan doing the same. Fran ignores the sand, sits by the fire to oil her bow and see that the fletchings of her arrows are unscathed. To check their armaments is a wise move; they plan to move at first light to explore the caves, and Balthier has heard enough talk to know that there are far more foul things in Zertinan than the Westersand would have one think.

But first, he lets his guns and pouches lie while he tries to get the sand out of his clothing.

A monumental task, to be sure. Never in his life has Balthier wished as deeply for a bath, or even a bucket of water.

“I can hit you with an Aero if you need help getting clean,” comes Vaan’s particularly cheeky tone over the fire.

Balthier arches one eyebrow at the chit while shaking the sand out of his sleeves. Perhaps he has actually tried that before; given the amount of brains apparent in his head, that seemed the case.

“I’m sure it would get all the sand off you,” Vaan presses, leaving Penelo to trot over to where Balthier is standing, “C’mon, if I hurt you I’ll heal you!”

“Methinks it should be tried on you, first,” Balthier blithely replies, refastening his cuffs, “to test the efficacy of such a move.” He puts his fingers together as if he is summoning the magicks, and Vaan yelps like a baby worgen, runs to hide behind Penelo.

The two orphans get to talking; about him, most likely, but Balthier has better things to do with his time than listen to their chatter.

Fran looks at him askance as he breaks his guns apart, begins the meticulous task of cleaning the sand from them.

“That method might work,” she says, quiet enough that the others cannot hear. “Or are you too afraid that a “gutter churl” might do you harm?” The lilt of her tone and the gleam in her eyes are amused when she glances up at him.

“Mayhaps,” Balthier muses, glancing up from the firing mechanism. Penelo is laughing, Vaan pouting. He seems aware of Balthier’s eyes on him, and looks up to toss a grin in the sky pirate’s direction. “Most definitely,” he mutters to himself with a sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sandsea is actually my favorite place in the whole game, especially with those big oil rigs in disrepair.... ahhhh it's such a striking setpiece

The Nam Yensa is quite unlike anything Balthier has encountered before, and that is of note for him. It is similar to the Ogir Yensa--of course, the sandseas are at core one and the same, but something about the Nam Yensa is older, wilder. Perhaps it is the influence of Raithwall, so close. Perhaps it is just time, and being forgotten.

In any case, he feels better that it is the six of them encamped on the bluff, scattered around a low, smokeless cooking fire. Fran is sitting on the cliff, staring up at the stars, and he knows better than disturb her. It seems that the rest of their party has likewise learned that to be the proper course of action, as they have occupied themselves in other things. Penelo is sitting with Ashe, the two of them talking sparsely as they clean their respective weapons, Basch behind them as if to protect them. Daggers, a one-handed sword, a two-handed. Fitting, when he thinks of it.

It seems, he muses, that the source of the silence in the camp is that their loudest compatriot is sitting, a ways off, not making a single sound. Vaan’s head is tipped up to consider the stars, but something is off, nevermind that Balthier has observed the boy enough to notice.

“Gil for your thoughts? Though I wager I know them,” Balthier says upon approaching. The day’s events were rather fascinating, particularly to see an Urutan Queen. Knowing Vaan, however, his mind would be more on the injustice they saw, if Balthier even had the right to call it so. The Urutan-Yensa are secretive and honor-bound, it would stand to reason they dealt with their own in a rather archaic way.

His question and following statement do earn a sideways glance from Vaan, but the expression pulling at his features is difficult to parse. “Is the sea really like this?” he asks finally, quiet.

Oh. That--is not what he is expecting. But Vaan does seem to take it as his job to surprise everyone; Balthier sits down near him.

“Like ‘this?” he asks.

The chit rolls his eyes. “Like the sandsea. Just--forever.”

“If anything was forever we wouldn’t be here,” Balthier says; he knows he’s being snotty, but Vaan looks more lively than he has the entire afternoon and evening. “But, I suppose it is, in a way. It seems endless when you’re on it, pure blue to the horizon.”

Vaan makes a sound in his throat that Balthier decides is either agreement or annoyance. “You’ve seen it.” It isn’t so much a question as a statement of knowledge, and Balthier nods.

“Of course; even Rabanastre isn’t so far from the ocean. I am more surprised that you have not wandered far enough to see it.”

Vaan makes another noise.

The silence stretches between them for several minutes, not fully comfortable. “Vaan,” Balthier says, because gods be damned, he might as well make sure the boy is alright, “are you okay?”

The sideways look that Vaan gives him is rather deserved, considering most of the time they have talked has been to trade barbs or other snide comments, mostly on his side. But that doesn’t stop a feeling of offense at the suspicious expression Vaan is directing toward him. “The Urutan are very different to what we might consider ‘civilized’, but one must respect their traditions, even if they are strange,” he elaborates with the wave of a hand.

“I know that,” Vaan says. “But respect doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Good point,” Balthier murmurs, mostly to himself. To Vaan, he adds, “Though considering the things you likely have seen, their methods might seem, ah, familiar.”

That does earn a snort, and it feels like victory even if Vaan’s voice is quieter when he speaks again, “Very.”

The silence between them does feel more comfortable than it had, and when Balthier finally stands to return to the relative warmth of the fire, Vaan asks, “Will we see the ocean?”

“Oh, definitely,” that is one thing that Balthier is sure of in this mad quest, “and soon, I would wager. Get some rest, would you? It wouldn’t do for our white mage to be unable to heal.”

Vaan rolls his eyes, and affords Balthier an annoyed, forced smile.

Decisive victory, Balthier decides.


End file.
